1: The Trial of Sherlock Holmes
by GrimmGirl8
Summary: First of five. After Sherlock returns from his four minute exile, he has some things to answer for. Post Christmas Special, written before Series Four. Spoilers.


_1 January 2015_

Sherlock Holmes sat at a long table at the centre of a large room in Parliament. In front of him, eleven COBRA committee members were evenly spaced around a "c" shaped table topped with microphones. In the centre, Lady Smallwood sat perfectly poised, reading a stack of papers before her. As they all waited to begin, the panel of high-ranking government officials busied themselves with notes or mobiles. He knew that this was in an effort to avoid being read by his notorious deductive skills, but it was for naught. Disguises, after all, couldn't help but end up being a self-portrait. Sherlock smiled to himself at the reminder of "the woman".

Mycroft Holmes entered the room, holding only an umbrella which he hung on the back of a chair next to his brother. He did not sit, but rather stood, awkwardly, hovering just out of Sherlock's field of vision. Lady Smallwood looked up and acknowledged Mycroft with a nod, before speaking.

"If everyone is ready, let's begin. This matter is to be held in the utmost secrecy. Any record, recounting or other mention of this hearing, outside of these proceedings, is tantamount to treason and will be punished as such. This hearing will be subject to a 'D Notice', the details of which are to be sealed in the permanent records vault for no less than 75 years. Since two individuals present share the same surname, they will be referred to as 'Mr. Holmes the Elder,' and 'Mr. Holmes the Younger.' The incident in question will not be named in these proceedings, but rather referred to as only 'the incident.' Are all parties in agreement?"

The other ten committee members confirmed their acknowledgement, still painfully avoiding eye contact with the Holmes boys.

"We are in agreement. The aforementioned Mr. Holmes, the Younger stands accused of the incident which took place on the twenty-fifth of December, 2014. His accomplice, Doctor John Hamish Watson…"

"John Watson had nothing to do with this and I have already given a statement to that effect!"

Sherlock had risen so abruptly from his seat that it shook the glass of water sitting on the table in front of him. Mycroft moved into his brother's line of sight just long enough to give a warning look. Reluctantly, Sherlock sat back down in his chair.

"If I may be allowed to continue - Doctor John Hamish Watson, formerly of Her Majesty's Royal Army Medical Corps and Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, has hereby been absolved of all wrongdoing. This decision, made in part as a result of character statements given by Mr. Holmes the Younger, Mr. Holmes the Elder, eight members of the MI5 tactical team and the helicopter pilot - all present at the time of the incident - three members of parliament, who shall remain unnamed, and a twelve page, handwritten letter delivered by courier this morning from Major James Sholto, VC."

Sherlock gave an audible sigh as he sat back into his chair. Before his brother had taken his mobile, Sherlock had sent out three texts: one to Lestrade, to contact his old colleague, the leader of the tactical team, one to Mary, to contact Major Sholto, and one to Mrs. Hudson, to contact anyone she knew of influence. Sherlock smiled at the thought of three members of Parliament being called upon for a favour by a stripper that they hadn't seen in over forty years. Lady Smallwood continued, seemingly unfazed by the reaction of the man on trial.

"Which brings us to Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, self-proclaimed 'consulting detective'. You stand accused of the events, culminating on the twenty-fifth of December two-thousand fourteen, which shall, in their most base form, remain unnamed, and which include - but are not limited to - theft, incapacitating a government official, and loss of life."

"How am I to be properly tried if my actions cannot even be named?"

"Since everyone in this room is familiar with the events to which I refer, it hardly seems necessary to belabour the point. We are not underestimating your intelligence, Mr. Holmes. We pray that you show us the same courtesy."

Sherlock tried very hard not to laugh and was relatively successful. Lady Smallwood looked at him, briefly, over her glasses before moving on.

"Besides, Mr. Holmes, the Younger, this is not a trial. We know definitively that you are guilty of these acts. This is a hearing to decide what exactly is to be done with you, moving forward. It has been made clear to this panel and to Her Majesty's Government that you and your 'methods,' so called, are of practical use, especially at this time of national emergency. As such, special consideration must be given when deciding your fate as a citizen of this nation. Now, Mr. Holmes the Elder: I believe you have prepared a statement, regarding your brother. If you would be so kind."

Mycroft took a step forward, placing himself directly beside Sherlock and the microphone. In a calm, rather bored voice, he addressed the panel at large, ignoring his brother almost entirely.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of this committee: my regards."

He bowed slightly, several of his addressees following suit. Again, Sherlock had difficulty suppressing laughter.

"My brother, Sherlock Holmes, has been of great service to this nation in the past. While his methods may be unorthodox, he has single-handedly brought down terrorist organizations, foiled fraudulent plots, and exposed serial murderers. In fact, the individual or individuals responsible for this morning's… disturbance… would not have been known to us were it not for his tireless efforts."

One of the more portlier gentlemen leaned forward into his microphone, evidently finding enough courage to look up from his notes and directly at the Holmes brothers.

"Is it safe to say that England would not currently be under threat from this terrorist organization were it not for the inflammatory actions of Mr. Holmes the Younger?"

The man who spoke was met with the dual steely gazes of both Holmes brothers, causing him to immediately withdraw eye contact, busying himself with his papers. Mycroft rolled his eyes briefly at this act of cowardice. Sherlock knew exactly what his brother was thinking, bringing a smile to the young man's face: people.

"The terrorist known as James Moriarty was active well before coming into contact with my brother and had his hand in so many different criminal pies that it took two years to dismantle his organization."

"And only one year for him to re-organize it, afterwards. Since he is purportedly dead, how is that possible?"

One of the youngest ladies at the table spoke, maintaining her gaze with Mycroft almost twice as long as had the first gentleman. Though this still only amounted to a few seconds.

"James Moriarty is dead. Committed suicide on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital almost three years ago. Though his image may have been used in this morning's message, he could not possibly be responsible for…"

"But his body was never recovered! All you have is the word of a thief and a murderer!"

"Strike that from the record!"

Lady Smallwood glared at the portly gentleman, who quickly sat back in his chair, not daring to speak for the rest of the hearing. Lady Smallwood removed her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose before speaking.

"I would like to remind everyone of the rules of these proceedings. I would also like to remind the panel that we are not here to discuss this morning's mass televised message. That is a separate investigation by another department. We are here to discuss the future of Mr. Holmes the Younger. Mr. Holmes the Elder, if you would please continue."

Again, Mycroft bowed slightly, this time eliciting a small snort from his brother.

"While my brother has accomplished enormous good for this country - and, indeed, the world at large - last week's 'little stunt' proves, most ardently, that certain measures must be taken to regulate his actions. Unfortunately, I can offer no specific suggestion of how to do so as I have tried for years to no avail. My hope is that this panel may come to some conclusion that I myself have failed to reach. My chief concern is to remind the good ladies and gentlemen of this hearing of the greater good achieved by my brother and his unconventional approach to investigation. He has personally assisted in everything from the of finding lost pets, to cases of infidelity..."

Three of the panel members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Sherlock smiled to himself as Mycroft continued without hesitation.

"... and even foiled a plot to destroy the very building in which we now sit, just over a year ago. These accomplishments, in many cases, were only made possible due to his ability to operate unhindered by bureaucratic red tape and, to some extent, outside the boundaries of the law. While I, of course, do not condone this approach by a civilian, the results are irrefutable. In short, Sherlock Holmes should, as the aforementioned incident demonstrates, be kept on a lead, but only a very long one, if at all possible. I've said this before, but it still rings true: yes, sometimes this country needs a blunt instrument. But, equally, it sometimes needs a dagger. A scalpel to be wielded with precision and without remorse. The time has come, again, when we need Sherlock Holmes."

Mycroft stepped back as a heavy silence fell upon the room. Sherlock stole a look at his brother before he moved out of his line of sight. His face was as stiff and cold as ever; seemingly unfeeling. He knew his brother's speech had been well rehearsed and thought through, each word orchestrated to elicit the response from the listening parties, the response that he intended. Still, Sherlock couldn't help but feel somewhat appreciated by his brother, in a way he rarely had before. This feeling, however, was very short lived. As Sherlock looked at his brother with bemusement, Mycroft caught his eye, his expression turning to that of utter bewilderment at his little brother. Sherlock rolled his eyes and scolded himself silently for having been fooled by his brother's performance. Lady Smallwood began the proceedings again, after the weight of the previous statements had been consumed during the lull.

"With that in mind, we will proceed to the decision portion of this hearing. Mr. Holmes the Younger, while your record of past successes is prolific, it does not outweigh the maliciousness of your actions…"

"Oh, for God's sake, killing Magnussen was an act of good!"

"Strike that from the record!"

"And, might I remind you, that everyone in this room, especially Lady Smallwood, benefited from his death?"

"Strike that…!"

"I mean really? Really? Who did I hurt!? I did you all a favour! And now you sit here and condemn me for it?!"

"You murdered someone in cold blood!"

Lady Smallwood was now standing, palms flat to the table, leaning forward and screaming at the top of her lungs. The room fell to a dead stillness as the vibrations of her outburst dissipated. With a deep breath, the Lady composed herself, sitting down and adjusting her glasses before continuing.

"No matter how despicable a human being he may have been, he was still in the protection of the British Government. His execution was neither sanctioned nor condoned. Strike all of that from the record."

One of the gentlemen leaned in to speak to Lady Smallwood just as Mycroft did the same to Sherlock.

"Kindly remember, dear brother, that these people hold your fate in their hands. You would be wise not to anger them."

With a loud sigh, Sherlock rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Mycroft was forever playing 'mummy' and Sherlock found it infuriating. Finishing her aside, Lady Smallwood turned back to address the Holmes brothers.

"The issue we face is how to maintain control of the actions of Mr. Holmes the younger. It has been proven time and again that your methods can sometimes be of more hindrance than help. This incident further illustrates that you have little, if any, regard for the law…"

"I _am_ the law!"

"Mr. Holmes, if you do not keep a lid on your brother, he will end up making our decision for us!"

Mycroft quickly positioned himself between his brother and the panel, hissing into Sherlock's ear.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you speak another word, I will personally burn down 221 Baker St.! Is that understood?!"

With a small eye roll, Sherlock sat back in his chair as Lady Smallwood leaned more deeply into the microphone before her.

"You are uncontrollable, unpredictable and untraceable. So, it is the decision of this panel to do what we can about one of those things."

The Lady pushed a small red button on the table in front of her. A few moments later, a police officer entered the room holding a plastic case. Crossing to the table in front of Sherlock, the officer opened it, revealing a small black box attached to an inch-wide black strap. Looking down at the object, the consulting detective gave a loud huff.

"An electronic tag? Really? What is this - 1997?!"

"We understand that this is an antiquated technique, but we assure you, the technology inside is not. We are also fully aware that, even with the upgraded hardware, disabling or bypassing this device would be child's play for you. Threatening you with any type of punishment seems like an exercise in futility, so, we will instead propose the following…"

The officer removed the device from its case, gruffly strapping it to Sherlock's right ankle.

"We will be tracking your movements, effective immediately. You are to stay within the confines of the London Metropolitan limits, indefinitely."

"Not much of a punishment…"

Sherlock was cut short with a wince as the officer tightened the strap until it almost cut the blood flow to his foot.

"Should you remove, disable, tamper with or so much as sneeze on this device, or should you attempt to leave the predetermined boundaries set by this panel, we will do a little investigating of our own. Every act of questionable legality, case of personal injury or death associated with any case you've even glanced at will be investigated with the utmost scrutiny. And, if anyone of your known associates did little more than hand you a pencil, they will be brought to heel, along with anyone they have ever met. If Dr. Watson's dog walker's mother has so much as a parking ticket, they will be brought to account to the fullest extent of the law. Do I make myself clear?"

For the first time since he took his seat in the centre of the committee room, Sherlock was solemn and compliant. John had more than a few indiscretions under his belt, not the least of which being the killing of a suspect during the first case they ever worked together. Both Molly and Lestrade, more than anyone else, had turned many a blind eye, any one of those occasions earning far more than a slap on the wrist, should they ever be discovered. As it was, Lestrade had almost been sacked the last time just a few of Sherlock's deeds came to light. And then there was Mary. Her actions would most assuredly be considered treasonous, should she ever be discovered. There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that she would, at the very least, be taken away from her family, possibly even killed. These sobering thoughts leaked out as a stone faced expression, blank and unblinking.

"I see we now have your full attention, Mr. Holmes the Younger. These are not idle threats and should not be taken lightly. Your actions have warranted much worse than this mere slap on the wrist. Should you participate in any further activities deemed unbecoming of a citizen of this nation, there will be consequences. Do not test us."

With one final stern look toward the consulting detective, Lady Smallwood called an end to the proceedings. Sherlock stood, grabbing his signature coat from the back of the chair. Without looking at him, the younger Holmes stuck out his hand towards his older brother. Mycroft complied, handing the mobile phone to Sherlock, who then left the room with a flourish.

In the hall, half way down the corridor, Dr. John Watson sat straight-backed on a bench. At the sight of his best friend, he stood, instinctively straightening his coat by tugging at the waist. As his companion passed him, the blogger fell into step, keeping pace despite the differences in the men's strides. In almost a whisper, John addressed his shaken-looking friend.

"So, if you 'are the law' and Mycroft is the British Government, what does that make me? Department of health and safety?"

"Spying, were you?"

"Up until that last bit. Then I started laughing so hard that the guard finally figured out I was listening at the door."

But Sherlock wasn't listening. He was too busy scratching at his leg as they walked.

"An electronic tag? Really?"

"Well, you did just shoot a man point blank in front of two dozen witnesses. I'm surprised all you got was a tag. Did they say anything else? Any other punishment? A fine?"

"I have to stay in London, indefinitely."

"Well, there you go! Not much of a punishment for you, is it? What is it you always say? Heartbeat of the world?

"Heartbeat of the universe, John. And you're right. Not much of a punishment. Why would I want to be anywhere else?"

"Exactly! Take the win! And Sherlock…"

John put a hand out, halting his friend just before they hit the street.

"You will keep it on, won't you? I mean, I know you could probably take that thing off whenever you wanted, but it's best not to aggravate the situation. They may be a bunch of pompous pricks, but they are the British Government. They probably won't take kindly to you defying them, no matter how much good you do them."

John smiled his sweet 'I know what I'm talking about, mate' smile that he always used when trying to convince his friend of something. Sherlock was suddenly very glad that the guard had gotten John away from the door when he had. He didn't want his blogger to feel the added pressure of knowing that someone else's actions could end his way of life as he knew it. Especially when that someone was him. Sherlock smiled back, using every muscle in his body not to betray his thoughts.

"I'll do my best, John."

"Good. That's all I ask. Now, let's go catch this Moriarty bastard, once and for all, so we can get that thing off your ankle, shall we?"

With a quick pat to Sherlock's shoulder, John moved to the edge of the pavement to hail a cab. As he followed, Sherlock felt the plastic device chaffing against his skin with every step.

End.

 _Story continues with "Unexpected Beginnings."_


End file.
